


sun, moon, stars

by Kuromori (necrocrunk), necrocrunk



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A couple of fluff chapters!!!, ALRIGHT new chapter features death, Angst, Chapter 5 is just a description of the trip out of Haven in the snow, Cunnilingus, Drabbles, Elves don't really understand gender in chapter four, Fenris/hawke in chapter 6, Fluff, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Other, Public Blow Jobs, Tranquil Hawke, except Hawke is TRANQUIL AND I WANT TO HURT YOU, fenris hates dorian as usual, fenris is a big baby in ch 11, more or less semi public, shit... i have to add a tag for that i knew this was Miss Steak, so chapter four has some traditionally feminine bits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrocrunk/pseuds/Kuromori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrocrunk/pseuds/necrocrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of drabbles. Currently in the process of proofreading and providing proper grammar to a couple of chapters. Feel free to skip them until it's fixed. On the other hand- Mostly Darcy/Dorian based. Occasionally some other lil things. <b>The graphic descriptions of violence and character death comes from one chapter! Don't be swayed</b><br/>--<br/>Current Update(s):<br/>/// oh hiatus until i can get some muse back in me!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lofticries- dorian/lavellan

Darcy scanned his book idly, humming an old song from his clan to himself till he felt drowsy, eyes drooping with sleep. With a whine, he gauged the time and considered drifting, if only for a few minutes. He was the Inquisitor, after all, and he deserved a nap whenever he wanted. So, he let himself nod off, dreams a muddled confusion of his thoughts, what he was reading, and a spec of dreamlike reality. They quickly got more convoluted and harder to remember as time went on, till he was face-down in his tome.

 

Dorian, on the other hand, had been relaxing in his nook in the library, feeling bored and- for the first time in a while -lonely. He huffed and shut his book, tossing it to the top of one of his stacks and stood, stretching his aching muscles and popping stagnant joints before walking out of the stuffy room. He figured, paying the Inquisitor a visit on a slow day like this wouldn't be too bad of an idea. Many people were distracted with their own business, leaving the hall empty.

He kept his stride quick to get to Darcy's room without raising questions til he was in the small walkway that lead to his quarters, and only gave a soft knock to the door before stepping into them. He forced himself up the stairs (whose idea was stairs in a room like this?) and scanned the room for the beloved Inquisitor, curious to why he didn't answer his knock.

 

The man he was looking for was awkwardly positioned in his bed, laying on one arm and face pressed into his book, while the rest of his body curled across the bed. He couldn't help his snicker, but Dorian decided to distract the swelling in his heart with cleaning up the sleeping Inquisitor. He started by pulling the book from his hands and from under his face, marking his place and setting it to the side. He then carefully rolled him to not have his face pressed into the bed. The Altus pulled the blanket over his lithe body last, making sure he was warm.

He was just about to move back to his own quarters when he was tugged back by his robe, a very sleepy elf giving him a squinty, but no less adoring, gaze. "Mmn, where do you think you're going?" He mumbled to Dorian, giving him another tug and flipping the blanket off himself. The mage laughed, batting his hand away. "Alright alright, let me get this thing off first..." He replied, dropping clothes till he was just in a flimsy shirt and his small clothes. He eased himself to lay with the rogue, arms open to let him curl up into his chest and get comfortable.

Darcy had no problem with the invitation and pressed his face into Dorian's neck, breathing him in while he relaxed in his grip. He hummed for a moment before leaning up to gently peck his lips, the magister breathing a laugh and combing fingers through his hair, the blanket moving to cover him past his ears (as he liked it, mind you). "Go back to sleep, amatus. I had no intention of waking you in the first place."

Darcy smiled as he curled up into his chest and noted the taste of Dorian's lips , "But I do like when you spend the night." He mumbled drowsily, eyes slipping shut again as he started to fall back asleep, as his lover had suggested. Dorian wasn't far behind him, the warm, plush sheets lulling him to feel drowsy, and then tired, and then he was asleep, body curling up to the Inquisitor against his will.


	2. flesh- dorian/lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blowjobs in the library? why not!

With a sigh, Darcy got comfortable in Dorian's lap, giving his mage a pleased smile. The altus smiled back, though he didn't raise his eyes to look at him. His arm tightened around Darcy's waist and he hummed a soft sound of approval, the rogue pressing his face to his his collar and reveling in the sweet scent of all the spices Dorian covered himself in. He was starting to get tired of how he'd been ignored so he could read his book, idly flipping pages and not noticing the little suggestive stares he'd given him the entire night.

 

Darcy growled to himself, slapping his hand down in the book, but pushing it out of his hands while he straddled his lap. "Doooorian." He drawled, hands cupping his cheeks so he could press their foreheads together. Dorian sent him a carefree stare, raising an eyebrow while Darcy felt his hands run up his sides, tracing his lithe frame in something he'd dare to call adoration.

"Yes, amatus?" The mage responded as he rested his hands on his hips finally, watching the devious smirk that formed on his lovers face. "No one else is in the library~" He mused out loud, hands carding through Dorian's short locks before Darcy eagerly pressed forward to seal their lips.

 

He lapped and nipped at the sensitive skin, Dorian eagerly kissing back with a pleased noise. The kiss was rough, needy; it made the elf moan and tug his hair while he rolled his hips down onto Dorian. At some point the mage had brought a hand up to trace his thumb over his ear, something that wasn't uncommon from him. Dorian had commented once "Your ears are so _cute_ , amatus. they're so _soft_." He grinned at the thought.

They sucked and licked at each other for a couple more minutes before the only thing Darcy could think about was the tightness of his trousers. He pulled away- regretfully- from Dorian, offering a small peck in apologies. "Mm, ma'vhenan... sit back." He commanded, hands running down his chest while he slipped into the floor, palms eventually resting on his thighs while he gazed up at him, eyes half-lidded. Dorian didn't hesitate to spread his legs and scoot down to give him room.

 

 

Hastily, the elf undid his pants and rubbed at his mage's small clothes, fingers gripping his length through the thin fabric. He heard Dorian exhale, head tilting while he watched him work. He tugged everything off his hips, patience dwindling as his arousal twitched in his own pants. He gripped Dorian's cock with thin fingers, no hesitation in leaning forward to lap his tongue from base to tip, teasing the Altus. He did this for a while, occasionally suckling at the sensitive glans under the tip. He shuddered at the low, husky " _Please_ " Dorian groaned, seeing fingers digging into his armrests and figuring he should indulge him, just a bit. Darcy sucked the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around him and squeezing at the base while he suckled at him.

Eventually, he took more of his length into his mouth and bobbed his head, making as many lewd, wet noises as he pleased while Dorian struggled to form a complete sentence without babbling something in Arcanum. The sounds Dorian was making were enough to make his cock twitch, and he eventually moved so he could grind against his shin and get some much needed friction. He groaned around the mage, making Dorian buck up into his mouth with a gasp and apology. Darcy chuckled, pressing him to the back of his throat and swallowing, drawing a sharp gasp from Dorian. "A-amat _usss_ , I don't think i'm going- _hah_ \- to last much longer..." He mumbled, head tilted back in the chair while his hands ran through the Inquisitor's hair.

 

He was quick to sit up and move his head a bit faster- rougher even. He loved the sweet whines the mage made as he neared his climax, hips twitching hard into Darcy's ministrations. It only took a minute tops, before Dorian was arching out of his chair, length twitching while cum splattered over the rogue's tongue. He didn't hesitate to swallow him down, despite the small amount that slipped down his chin. Dorian slowly slipped into his afterglow and Darcy pulled away, fixing Dorian's pants back to their original state before climbing to straddle his lap again.

He didn't care exactly for the mage's mental state, instead undoing his own pants and grabbing one of Dorian's hands, pressing it to his groin with a breathy whine. "Please, ma'vhenan." He sent Dorian a wanton, lustful stare, hips twitching when he complied and gripped the elf's length and made quick work of him, making Darcy arch and buck into his hand. He cussed and moaned under his breath, burying his nose into the mage's neck while he spilled into his hand, voice soft as he groaned into his ear. They both took a moment to relax, panting and practically melting into each other.

 

"Can we just sleep in your quarters tonight? I don't think I can make it back to my own..." Dorian complained, intending to be humorous, but honestly giving himself away. The Inquisitor chuckled and cleaned himself up, standing and nodding, "Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad."


	3. don't let it pass- dorian/lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angsty shit. dorian hasn't realized that the inquisitor just want to let dorian understand how much this land means to him. dorian's too busy drinking himself into a hole.  
> edited because i realized i put emerald graves instead of exalted plains

Darcy looked into the horizon, the sun lowering and creating a beautiful array of colors over the thin clouds. He'd missed this. The Exalted Plains made his stomach tighten into little nostalgic knots and made him ache for his clan. It'd been so long since he's spoken to his Keeper or hunted or felt the soft, green grass under his feet. It'd inspired him to lose his boots and opt for the common leggings among elves, leaving the balls of his feet exposed to the elements.

 

 

He spotted a Halla eventually, moving across the horizon, and the scene was perfect. He hadn't seen one the whole time they'd been here and he was incredibly excited to revisit that at least. In his excitement, he pressed roughly into Dorian's side, intending to lean to his eye view and point it out. The sharp movement must have spooked Dorian, with the way he pulled away from the Inquisitor. It nearly sent him falling to his knees with the roughness, but he regained his balance, not even risking a hurt glance to the mage as he stood straight and looked out to the Halla again, the view not at sweet now.

He understood Dorian wanted to keep them secret for now; he was the inquisitor and Dorian was a magister from Tevinter, they didn't mix. But that didn't mean he couldn't share a small moment with him.

 

Dorian sighed as Darcy suddenly lost the confidence in his stance: one hand moving to rub at his arm while he exhaled softly and turned away. "What is it, Inquisitor?" The mage risked.

"Nevermind. It's gone now anyway." He tossed his hair out of his face and briskly walked back to their tent, deciding to retire early. Dorian looked to where he'd seen the rogues gaze had focused, but the Halla had passed over the horizon like by the time he'd considered it.

\----

He slept horridly. Suddenly the green grass wasn't so vivid anymore and he wasn't interested in the earthy scent of home either. He was quiet their whole trip. Dorian had taken to a drink or two before he'd even gotten his robes on, and Darcy was incredibly put out. That is, until they'd spotted the Dalish camp. Forget about his mopey mage, he hadn't spoken to another clan in years. He wasted no time in gaining their favor and helping recruit one of their elves. They offered them camp that night, and he practically reveled in the familiarity. The drinks, the food- even the smells made him feel like he was at home. He almost hated to leave.

But Cole had interrupted him while he listened to one of the elves tell stories, the spirit informing him that Dorian would 'Be happy if you talked to him.' He considered it, he really did. But he didn't want to talk. He didn't need to apologize for nothing. He wasn't at fault, right? He didn't want to think about it.

"I don't think i can talk to him right now." The spirit sent him a conflicted stare, but nodded and let him be. They headed to find another place to camp the next morning.

\----

It took Dorian three days to work up the confidence to talk to him. Between drinking himself to a stupor and sleeping, he'd done nothing but avoid Darcy. He wasn't angry, but he wasn't exactly thrilled either. They had taken a couple of days to relax and regain energy, and then they'd taken to some cliffs, looking for rifts. You could never quite tell- in the higher places- where exactly the ground would give, or if it would hold you till the end of it's days.

 

Darcy made the mistake of placing his feet on the weaker bit of ground. As soon as his foot touched it he was slipping down between rocks and mud. it was a small crack in the ground, but he sunk far, and he could feel his ankle twist a way it shouldn't have. He gripped for anything he could get his hands on and screamed, pain sparking in his leg and leaving him almost breathless, but not quite enough stop him.

First to his side was Dorian, who was pulling rocks and mud off of the Inquisitor with haste, panic obvious in his features. He panted as the pressure let up on his ankle, clinging to Dorian's robes in desperation as he was hauled out of the crevasse. The rest of his companions were quick to check him over, hands making hasty work of his armor till they could see what was wrong. Luckily, he hadn't broken anything severely, it seemed, but his ankle had definitely been injured. He sighed, holding onto Dorian like his life depended on it. The magister wasn't too thrilled, but Dorian refused to let anyone else carry him back to their tent once he was fixed up.

He thanked him, voice soft, turning to lay on his side and forget how much he missed Dorian's touches, too.

Halfway through the night, he wanted fresh air. Sleep wouldn't come and he felt hot and sweaty. He managed, despite his sensitive ankle, to limp his way a little ways out of camp and make himself comfortable under a tree. He'd taken Dorian's shirt with him (he missed how he smelled) and pondered till he felt his eyes get misty.

Now he'd begun to doubt himself. What had he done to make Dorian look at him like he was completely idiotic? It made his chest hurt. It hurt a fucking ridiculous amount. It was stupid. He'd never been in a serious relationship, and Dorian was making it hell for him. He pressed his face into his shirt and curled into his legs, letting himself do something besides bottle it up. Which was sobbing. lots of ugly, gross sobbing. It was a few minutes before Darcy didn't feel complete incompetent, and he let his arms unfurl from his head, and blurry eyes focus on the stars he could barely see through green leaves.

 

It was only a couple of minutes before he could hear what he could only assume to be Cole sitting beside him, of course, until they spoke. "Amatus..." he muttered, kneeling beside him and risking a glance. and he more than welcomed it.

Darcy pressed to his chest and held him there, sniffling weakly. "I'm sorry. I don't know how any of this works. I... I don't know what you want me to do." He admitted, voice choking up against his will. The mage was quick to comfort him, pulling him against his chest.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. I panic sometimes. My whole life has been forbidden trysts that last no longer than a couple of hours. I never thought you'd actually be comfortable with me. You'll have to forgive me if the things you do... surprise me." He offered a slight smile, and Darcy couldn't help but return it. He hasn't seen that expression in too long. "We're both out of our comfort zones, alright. I'm trying my best, Dorian."

"Believe me, i think we both are. But, now that that's cleared up, Can you tell me what in the hell we've been eating for the past 3 days? It's so gamey I can barely stand to eat it without drowning it in something."

Darcy laughed, "Carry me back and maybe I'll tell you."

"You drive a hard bargain, but I'll humor it."


	4. obedear- dorian/lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO this is purely self indulgent but, i like theorizing that gender and sex and generally elves physiology in general is different than humans. intersex or trans individuals aren't uncommon so elves are like 'ya whatevs' about it  
> so uh Hm. im not saying darcy is trans, but he's not intersex. im unsure of the word? everything about him is male besides his genitals in this lil fic so. who know. if you know tell me BUT without further ado...  
> edit: tbh I tend to dance around words because I'm a big baby when it comes to writing anything with vaginas okay. if you feel offended by anything I'll definitely change it!!   
> I'm gender fluid (male leaning) dfab myself and most of these are purely written for myself

dorian was eager to get darcy undressed, backing him up to the bed and making his knees give way so he would fall onto the mattress. he crawled up to him, kissing his collar and neck, then his jaw and finally back to his lips. darcy squirmed under the mage, giving breathy sounds of approval while he gripped his shoulders. they'd never exactly moved this far this fast, but he wouldn't complain. dorian had more experience with being the charming one and he was all for letting him have his way.

but there were a couple of things plaguing his thoughts currently, things that were getting louder as dorian stripped him down. the only way he could stall it was by working hard to strip dorian too while he was at it, trying hard at the array of buckles he wore (this was not fashion and he didn't know where he got the idea it was) and occasionally managing to get a few with his mouth distracted. eventually, he was down to his trousers and everything screamed at him to pause this moment of lust.

 

"dorian- wait, ah- dorian-!" he pleaded slightly, pushing at dorian's shoulders. regretfully, the mage eased away from him, giving him the space he needed. "amatus, what is it?" he brushed his knuckles over the tattoos on his cheek, his gaze concerned. he was worried maybe this wasn't exactly what the elf had wanted; maybe he'd moved too fast?

"mh, don't look so worried ma'vhenan. it's just, i know humans operate a little differently than elves. alright, just? entertain me for a second, please?" he was a little worried, really, but if dorian loved him as much as he'd hoped, and for the right reasons... darcy shed his pants, leaving him completely undressed and making his cheeks heat up, more at the exposure if anything. instead of the swollen length he had expected, darcy's naval eased down to something a bit more feminine. he didn't wait for dorian's response, instead glancing away, embarrassment heavy in his stomach.

dorian didn't say anything for a few seconds looking his naked form over first before he gave a short chuckle, lips pressing to his collarbone. "don't think this will deter me from absolutely ravishing you still. you are no less handsome than before."

darcy snickered, brushing a hand through his hair, "i just wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable with it or not. this isn't uncommon among elves, but apparently humans are different."

dorian gave a short nod, resuming kissing up his throat and jaw to tease him, "we are, yes, but i'm not going to be deterred by a bit of unusual elf physiology, eh?" he pulled away to send him a smirk, before commanding softly, "sit up in the middle, let me finish undressing." and darcy did as he was told, laying back in his sheets and stretching while he waited. dorian was quick to strip down and climb to push his legs apart, sitting between them.

 

he let his hands rest on his chest, running languidly down his body and occasionally pausing so his thumbs could trace circles over his ribs. darcy couldn't help but whine and squirm, hands resting above his head to give him a clear view of his frame. while showing off was embarrassing, dorian's adoring gaze was encouragement to put himself on display. continuing forward, the mage seemed especially interested in his hairlessness from the neck down, fingers rubbing over his naval and groin with curiosity. he couldn't help but giggle, the tough featherlight and hesitant almost.

it didn't last too long, till he was pressing fingers between his lips, probing and rubbing cautiously at him, gauging what reaction was received from what. a rough press to his clit and darcy was bucking into the touch; the sink of fingers at his entrance, and he rolled his hips to urge him deeper. he licked and chewed at his lips, voice rising in whines whenever dorian did something that felt better than the rest. eventually, thought, he retracted his fingers and left him needy, toes curling with a whimper, "dooorian..." he pleaded, sending the altus a lustful gaze.

 

dorian chuckled, but didn't respond. instead, he lowered himself to kiss down his naval, stopping right above his sex and lapping -flat-tongued- at where his slit began. it made him gasp and struggle not to force the mage to just get the hell on with it. but, foreplay was foreplay, and if it meant easing dorian into the concept of pleasing him, he'd have to learn to be patient.

knowing better than to spend too long in one spot, he placed gentle pecks down his lips, eventually giving that up to press his tongue into his folds and give him a rough lick. it had him gasping, sending dorian a look of surprise. it made the mage chuckle, and then eat him out in earnest. he gave him a few rough laps, making sure to pay attention to areas he had responded to earlier. each brush of his tongue had him groaning, rolling his hips eagerly to his touch.

it was worse when dorian attached his mouth around his clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. darcy writhed and gasped, mumbling please for dorian to stop teasing him. he pulled away with a sloppy noise, licking his own lips and not even sparing the elf a glance while he spread him open with both hands and leaned to suckle and lick at him a bit more, one hands fingers tracing his entrance curiously.

 

dorian's mouth replaced itself at his clit again, but this time he was all tongue and aimed it at the less sensitive bits. he used it to his advantage while he slipped a finger into his sex, thrusting it easy and slow with the wetness coaxing it on. he didn't hesitate on adding the second, leaning quickly to curl it up and pump them, the move prodding rough at his g-spot and making his muscles twitch.

"ah-shit doria- _an_ , please..." he babbled, head tossed back in the pillows while he tugged at dorian's hair, the new attention easily pushing his body to his edge. he could feel arousal build in his stomach, his hips rutting hard onto the mage's mouth while he suckled at his clit and fucked him with his fingers. the alternating stimulation made him sob moans while his body grew tense with need. it was only a couple more moments of that till he was clamping down on his fingers and arching up off the bed, not even noticing the stare dorian had settled on him from between his trembling thighs.

 

while darcy eased into his afterglow and dorian finally pulled away, the rogue took the time to relax and mull over what had just happened. it was short lived as dorian rose with mustache disheveled, as was the rest of his hair, and his chin damp with him. he leaned to kiss the elf, making sure to deepen the kiss so he could taste himself. it made darcy groan, reaching to grab dorian's arousal and give a him a few pumps, which was all it took with how wound up he was. the mage came with a low moan into his mouth, cum splattering over his hipbone and stomach and drawing an interested giggle from darcy.

with them both spent, they took the time to relax after he'd cleaned dorian's mess up. darcy cuddled up to his chest, admiring the contrast of his pale skin against the mage's sunkissed tones. he didn't even register anything the altus said before he was falling asleep despite trying hard to stay awake. he managed to mumble out a soft 'love you' before he was out, leaving dorian a bit bewildered and embarrassed.


	5. portable television- dorian/lavellan sort of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> like .9% pavellan in this one. i'd suggest maybe just skipping if you want some Hardcore Fluff, which this doesn't have. but the next one will heheheh. i just wanted to write cold, u feel?

he groaned as he woke, entire body aching from the fall. snow had covered some of his body since everything had collapsed after he tumbled. with a weak gasp, the lavellan struggled to his feet, joints screaming for him to stop and rest. but he had to find everyone; make sure that all wasn't completely lost. he brushed himself off and moved on, breathing heavy with pain and a struggle to keep moving forward. his hand ached, too, and the freezing cold definitely did not help the pain. he gathered his wits and passed into the next chamber with obvious trouble.  
darcy gripped his wrist, feet still only barely managing to drag him to his destination. a couple more clearing in this cave till he came upon a group of demons. something must have happened when corypheus has tried to remove his anchor, since he held his hand up and ripped open a tear in the fade, one which sucked the demons right back to where they came from before it closed, leaving him alone again. he exhaled a cold breath, licking his lips before deciding he should keep going. no use in lingering. 

before long he was back in the cold, snow beating down on him. it froze in his eyelashes, stuck to his hair, and coated his armor. it made him shiver and cause his pained bones to hurt even more. he grit his teeth, but kept his mouth closed. if it felt like the snot in his nose was freezing, then the saliva in his mouth most definitely would. the snow as about ankle deep now, but it was quickly gaining inches. the flakes were thick and heavy. they would not take long to pile upon eachother and white the area out completely. he trudged through the thick precipitation, arms curled around himself in an effort to preserve body heat. things were getting worse very quickly.

the inquisitor has hoped maybe thoughts of warmed things would spur him on. in reality, it did nothing but make him colder. now he longed to be sitting so close to a fire he could feel the embers stinging his skin. his breath clouded his vision with each puff, and the snow was nearly past his knees now. it wouldn't be so bad, he concluded, if his hands had also been dressed in the layer after layer that his feet were. while his feet were not warm, they were not damp and freezing either. he was sure his fingers were getting frostbitten, from the color the last two digits on his left were turning. he didn't dare to give them another glance while he tried desperately to tuck them in the crooks of his arms and warm them, with the veins and blood that were heavy there.  
it felt like hours that he trudged on, body no longer aching from cold so much as from shaking. he was sore from the fall, and his body must have been bruising by now. snow was starting to collect in his hair, and darcy was sure he looked half dead by now. his face felt like ice; it hurt to move his lips, and he'd stopped licking his lips when they chapped long ago, finding the peeling skin preferable to ice crystals collecting on them. if the elf had to be honest, he'd much rather be dead than face the pain creeping through his frigid body, but what would the survivors of the inquisition do without their beloved herald? he wouldn't be much of a herald after that, would he...

his thoughts wandered the colder he got, his body eventually putting up a struggle to haul the thin elf through the snow. he'd promised himself: round the next corner and if they're not there,  _do not_ continue. the thought had worried him at first, but he was quickly growing more accustomed to the idea. he pressed on, just far enough he could see what was beyond the cliff and what exactly the clearing offered.  
his vision was tunneling, but the sight of fires made him nearly moan with reassurance, and the yell from the knight-commander was an even better sign. his body gave out with perfect timing, collapsing into the snow while everything turned to black.

-

cullen hauled him out of the biting cold in his coat, making sure to keep frostbitten fingers covered and hidden from the painful winds. nearly everyone worked quick to help; medics were immediately pecking and pulling his clothes away to strip him to his mostly dry pajamas, then work at covering him in blankets. anyone who had something warm to contribute was at attention, and the advisers watched closely as his face regained color, body slowly but surely heating up and filling his lips with hot blood.  
dorian watched, not too far away. while he had wanted to help, he had nothing to contribute. he had minimal blankets himself, ones he was using to the best of his advantage (they were thinner then he'd like.). so he watched, making sure nothing went wrong and admiring the elf's soft features with his unconscious state. there wasn't much more he could do. he retired to his tent for the time being while he rested, figuring he should warm up in this damned southern snow.

it wasn't long before the herald's advisers were arguing, and quite loudly at that. they couldn't function without a neutral party to approve someone's opinion or have some meaningless input that might calm them all. and, speak of the devil, it roused the rogue from his sleep and coaxed him out of his cot, examining his body with a quick onceover that stopped at his hand, revealing where the one's he'd suspected of frostbite, removed at the second knuckle. he grimaced, but still stood, paying no more mind to the bloody bandages. he had walked out of his tent and it wasn't long before mother giselle had joined them, voicing rising in a comforting pitch of a song; one that was only familiar to the humans around him.  
soon after solas was hauling him away with a warning, then he was being ushered back by the medics, and it was a couple hours with the advisers at their current 'war table' (which consisted of a table with a map on it) till he was easing back into his cot, only to be stopped by another mage. he resisted a sound of annoyance, consider exactly who it was. he'd shown interest in the altus before, but figured it was on deaf ears. the magister was a bit.. caught up in himself. 

the conversation was short and curt, but made the herald wonder if he had intended to say something else entirely. it was nothing but "how is our beloved herald of andraste?" "cold and ache-y mostly. and our evil tevinter magister?" "quite the same. don't let me keep you from your much needed rest, though. i know a bad time when i've chosen it." and he was gone, retired for good this time.

he mulled on it to lull himself to sleep. he'd entertain the thought another time, really. tomorrow, they moved forward.


	6. exile vilify- fenhawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *waddles in* wahat was that. this isnt dorian/lavellan???? you wanted fluff??/ sorry buddy Not Today.
> 
> i saw some fanart that put me in pain so i had to write. tranquil!hawke/fenris. nothing too long or serious but a drabble in it's essence. also consider checking out the song exile vilify if you can it wont help you but. hey, tear ur feelings apart, you know!?

Fenris stared his lover over, examining how his hair crept down the back of his neck; how his shirt set on his shoulders; how broad he was for a mage. He hadn't responded to his entrance, face still pointed at what he could only assume was a book in his hands. With a sigh, the elf approached him, chest tightening the closer he got to him. He gently leaned to press a kiss to the top of his head, shoulders trembling with a newfound hesitation that had been plaguing him for a couple of weeks. Hawke hadn't even noticed. Honestly, the human hadn't spoken nearly a word to him. They'd shared some very basic conversation, but he found it lifeless and dull, which was uncomfortably.... unusual. The knot in his throat thickened at the thought: this was not the Hawke he'd fallen in love with

He brushed his fingers through the soft locks, stopping eventually and picking at the red cloth tied around his wrist. He felt... he wasn't sure. A cocktail of fear, worry, and need. Need to have the quirky, snarky jokes that Hawke made without missing a beat. His tattooed hands crept over his shoulders and he trailed them down his chest till he could see what he had in his hands. He wasn't wrong; a book, something boring on history from what words he understood, sat in his palms. Though he didn't read with enthusiasm.   
"Garrett."  
"...Yes?" His voice was bland and monotone.  
"Are you reading?"  
"I am."  
Fenris only offered a soft grunt to that, letting his head bow to rest on his arm, and then slip to his shoulder. He took a slow breath, letting the now unfamiliar scent of Hawke fill him for a brief moment. He ignored how bad his own body shook, and focused more on keeping his cool demeanor. His facade was cracking quickly, turning him into a trembling mess of emotions in record time. Fenris had avoided time like this for a reason. The elf nuzzled into his neck and gathered some of his shirt in his hands, letting tears stain his cheeks.

 

Everything about him had felt cold and abnormal, and it hurt even more to mull on it. The one thing he'd come to trust and rely on, and to have it ripped from his grasp. He'd only been pushed deeper into the shell he'd made for himself. He'd struggle to blame it on something mundane. This is what he got for loving a _mage_ ; that's what you get when you trust people; excuse after excuse. Fenris had experienced pain, the worst that one could possibly imagine. But this was something else entirely. Something he wasn't used to. Attachment, adoring, and of course- worst of all- love, were all new. He'd only had them for so long, and they were painfully new then, and now they were painfully lacking. What had he done to deserve this? Most of all, what had Hawke done?

He straightened a little, cheeks soaked with a painful mix of feelings he wasn't too sure about. Everything felt unwelcome. He pressed his lips to the space in front of the tranquil's ear, mouthing pained declarations of admiration and pleas, all of which fell on deaf and most of all, uncaring ears. He nosed at his temple as he broke a little more, choking a soft sob into Garrett's skin and hugging his shoulders. The mage did not respond, knowing when staying quiet was the better option. His chest physically, entirely, ached. He ached and pained. This wasn't what he wanted. One hand moved up to brush over the small symbol adorning his forehead; this isn't what Hawke wanted. He knew the rest of his companions would have to visit eventually, but he couldn't stand the thought of even being there when Anders visited.

His throat tensed, choking his next sob grossly. Justice would stir something in the tranquil's head, reconnect him -if only a few strings- back to the Fade. He didn't want to know. Fenris clung at him with weak hands; he did  ** _not_  **want to know any anguish his love had been in. He did not want to know how Hawke felt about him, he did not want to know what the last honest thought crossed his mind was. He wanted to hold his mage, snuffed like a flame, close to him for the rest of time. Forget about the slavers eager to return him to Tevinter, the companions who had relied on Hawke's judgement, the responsibilities that had once been trusted in them all. He wanted to dwell and wallow in the sorrow suffocating him.   


"...Fenris." The elf only stirred to listen,  
"I..." The tranquil paused, making sure he pieced his next words together right, "I'm sorry."


	7. tide- dorian/lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff with dorian/darcy. i wanted smth cute without sex.  
> this one will probably never be in correct grammar sry

darcy reveled in the touch of warm hands carefully gripping his jaw, holding him close with a sense of desperation. he wanted to lean into them; feel dorian’s heated palms against his cheek, but that meant pulling away from the forehead pressed to his own. so he let his fingers snake up to touch the back of his neck, pulling the mage in for a kiss, bordering on passionate. it was soft and slow, and darcy was very specific about the point he wanted to get across. the elf didn’t want a quick, heated session of lovemaking followed by waking to dorian redressing to leave. that wasn’t fair.

no, it wasn’t fair. what he wanted was starting to make him needy, but in the least suggestive iteration of the word. he was touch-deprived, of the touches that linger on your hips or cheek or even lips, ones more focused on feeling rather than pleasure. he wasn’t even interested in the thought of sex at the moment. rather, having as much of dorian pressed against him to remind him exactly how close they might have been

darcy pushed the altus back to the bed, hands delicate as they combed through carefully sculpted locks of hair, thumb giving an occasional press at his bottom lip in the midst of their kiss. he regretted pulling away, but he was languidly moving to join his lover soon after, straddling his lips and pecking down his chin and throat. he stopped eventually to give a soft sigh, glancing back up to dorian and admitting exactly what he’d been mulling, “i’m not interested in, ah… doing anything tonight, that is…” his voice was quiet, and he felt like he was more likely mumbling it to himself as a suggested idea.  
"whatever you like, amatus. though i feel i must inquire as to what you’re up to right now?"  
"i…i just want…" he struggled to form his words, giving a huffy pout at his struggle to piece together a reply and snaking one hand down to entwine with dorian’s. they had made their way up to rest on his thighs at some point, though he hadn’t exactly noticed till now.  
"i want to be… close, if that makes sense. i want to know what it actually feels like to be close to someone." he looked to dorian for approval, that he hadn’t just babbled some poorly phrased sentence.

the mage looked… a bit confused, but offered a reassuring smile and squeezed his hand, his free one reaching to card through darcy’s hair and land on his cheek. “maybe you can show both of us then.” and darcy smiled down at him, turning his head to tenderly kiss his palm, before he leaned to replace his lips on dorian’s.   
they stayed mended together for a while, lavellan curling his arms tight around his neck, while the mage ran curious fingers up and down his back. the contact was soft and soothing, making darcy practically melt against him. he noted things he hadn’t exactly paid any mind to before. the inside of dorian’s lips were like silk - he got a kick over swiping his tongue over the slick flesh- and he tasted vaguely of alcohol and candy. he ignored how as time wore on, the sleepier they felt, and the sloppier the kiss got. dorian paid no attention to the drool was starting to drip down his chin, too focused on listening for the little moans the inquisitor gave.

it wasn’t long before darcy slipped away from straddling him, but their mouths never broke. he curled up beside him and held the kiss for a bit longer, before he absolutely could not offer anything interesting and pulled away, holding dorian with a tight embrace and pressing their foreheads together, breath coming in short pants. with a few quick, mumbled words, they were scooting to the top of the bed so they could rest with the pillows, and darcy pulled the blankets up to their shoulders. he tangled their bodies together as close and tight as possible, body worn and tired and decidedly comfortable in this position.   
he didn’t risk any ‘love you’s on dorian quiet yet, only muttering a soft “sleep well, ma’vhenan” before he was out like a light, snoring quietly against his chest.

—-

darcy woke to a lack of warmth tangled into his side, and immediately disappointment was suffocating him. he picked up what looked like one of dorian’s rings, assuming it must have slipped off in his sleep, and turned to lay it on the nightstand. he moved so quick, though, that it was more like he slammed it down, and he mumbled a hushed “what did i expect” before curling back into his plush sheets, deciding he’d go back to sleep.   
it wasn’t long before he heard the familiar chuckle, the altus walking to the bed with flat-footed steps. he blinked up to stare at him, cheeks heating up a bit in embarassment. “i trust you have more faith in me than that, amatus? though i cannot blame you for pouting like that. i just stepped out to cool down a bit.” he pulled the sheets up and climbed back into the bed with him, arranging his body so that he wasn’t quite smothering him, but blocked most anything that wasn’t himself. “go back to sleep, i’ll be here when you wake.”  
darcy smiled at that thought, clinging to his waist and snuggling up under the covers, successfully covering his ears and keeping himself as warm as he could.


	8. ordinary days- dorian/lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> was listening to ordinary days by klaus veen  
> proper grammar for a change!!! some dorian/lavellan comfort for all your pavellan needs. warning for vomit. very very short but I HAD to get this shit written out before it started to get annoying.

Dorian awoke to Lavellan peeling his way out between his arms, looking exhausted and if anything, disgusted. When questioned, he only offered a wave of the hand before he was moving for a bucket tucked away in his closet. Originally left there for cleaning purposes, he now watched the elf keel over it and heave, retching up what remained of his dinner and coughing on the sour bile. Dorian didn't take himself as one to let someone suffer like this alone, and he carefully eased out of bed to kneel down beside Darcy, grabbing a discarded handkerchief from his nightstand (a clean one, mind you) and using it to dab at his mouth. Dorian noted the dull glow from the Anchor, the sight making him grimace. He only paused to tie his hair up, not wanting to  have him waking with vomit dried in his hair. He didn't particularly favor the smell himself.

Darcy offered a small sound as warning before he was gagging up more fluids, this one less food and more stomach acid. The mage wiped off what he could when given the chance, noticing the tears dripping down his face as he did. The elf wasn't sobbing or anything dramatic, as most expect when they're upset. He didn't even shake under his touch. At first he feared that maybe the Inquisitor was in pain, but the elf shooed him away when questioned and spit up more disgustingly bitter fluid. "I'm not in pain-" He was cut off by a decidedly distressed look, wringing his wrist with a whine, "I... I had a dream. The mark makes them worse- makes them vivid." His voice got quiet as he choked on the words, hand squeezing his pulse point tight.   
Dorian wiped his mouth off as he saw the elf relax, hoping he was done dry-heaving and grabbing up one of the candies he'd brought up during dinner the night before and handing it to him. Darcy hesitated, but pushed it past his lips, easing back to sit on his calves and let the sweet dissolve in his mouth. Dorian sat with him, fingers brushing over the intricate tattoos, then scarred shoulders, and finally resting on bruised thighs. He waited till his amatus was calm and comfortable with explaining exactly what was going on in his head. Darcy sighed, fingers brushing the skin around the anchor scarring his palm, "It was... it was bloody. And I've seen carnage, Dorian, don't get me wrong." He breathed a quick sigh, fingers trembling with the force with which he pressed into the ball of his palm. "But this... I-... I could  _smell_ it. Could feel their bones crack under my feet" The mage couldn't help but cut him off at that- "Their's?"

That made Darcy pause, taking a deep breath and digging his nail into his skin now, prompting Dorian to drag his hand away and entangle it with his own. "Everyone. Not just the Inquisition. My clan was there too. " Dorian didn't dare ask about himself, figuring he might be pushing it then. He brought his hand back up to his face to turn it towards him, kissing the tears off his cheeks and then giving his lips a soft peck, the vile smell of vomit gone with the candy in his mouth.   
"Amatus, it was just that- a dream. And right now, you've got me at your every beck and call to comfort you. Would you please come back to bed and lay with me?" He thumbed at one of his tattoos as he spoke, offering a soft smile, and getting a small one back in return.

"I'll admit, Vhenan," Darcy chanced as Dorian helped him back to his feet, the mage brushing a few stray locks of hair out of his face, "I don't favor the idea of going back to sleep." He didn't meet the other's gaze, but followed the Altus all the same, who spoke as they crawled back under the sheets. "Then don't. I'll lay and talk with you till I'm dozing off myself." He practically tangled his body up with the Inquisitors, nestling his face into his hair and rubbing soothing hands down his back. "But I promise, you're safe with me." He mumbled into the red locks, hearing Darcy breathe a content sound into his chest. He hoped it ws enough to pacify his thoughts, if only for tonight.


	9. bad wings- dorian/lavellan sort of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title from bad wings - glitch mob  
> darcy has an unfortunate run in with a couple of red templars

Don't misunderstand, Darcy was  _not_ a fool on the battlefield. He fought humans and slavers through his childhood, and fighting groups of red templars was proving to be no different. But occasionally, someone would put his blindspot to use and do exactly what you'd expect- blindside him. Usually it was no more than a shoulder to his chest, forcing him back. He was always quick to recover and retaliate, striking a blow up under armor from the ground position. But this time was different. Instead of blunt force and a lingering ache, this bash of armor and metal sunk through the leather on his stomach. Not deep, but the skin dragged with the blade that tore it, drawing a sharp cry from Darcy- then he was tumbling back, struggling to catch his breath and comprehend what exactly was harming him. 

The templar that had injured him had already been stuck down before it could approach him, Darcy was assured, examining the battlefield before he tried to push himself up. His face was pressed into the ruined grass and dirt, making him grimace at how it stuck to his mouth and left a gritty taste on his lips. His nails caught mud in his attempt, but a certain movement had more skin tearing- more screaming, too- and Darcy let himself fall back into the dirt. He took a breath before assessing the damage, throat seizing at the sight. A laceration deep enough to cut through muscle and fat, letting some choice organs spill from his stomach. The observation made him sick, and he was heaving into the grass before he could stop himself, coughing up blood from the trauma (he hoped- the wound didn't look like it had punctured more than skin) and sobbing at how it  _worsened_ everything, pain shooting through his body.  
He hadn't even registered the cry from Dorian as he noticed his situation, the mage striking down foes around him and nearly scrambling to join him on the ground. Without question, he flipped the rogue onto his back to hopefully slow him from bleeding out, ignoring how Darcy grit his teeth and gagged on crimson. Second to join him was Solas, (he'd brought him to study ruins- despite how he didn't favor his company) who was working faster than Dorian by a long shot. Immediately, he reached to mop up blood and assess the damage. He was doing his best to tuck everything back into place when Bull joined them - the templars from before dead, thanks to his handiwork- giving a pained sound as he saw exactly what they were working with. "I've seen something similar before," he attempted to assure, "Mages can do wonders to shit like that"

Darcy wasn't exactly listening. He wouldn't even begin to call it that. He placed his focus on the leaves above him; on how the breath entered and left his lungs; how Solas pushing his fucking  _organs_ back into place didn't hurt (of course it did). Everything was a battle to keep his body functioning and from him losing consciousness. He wouldn't mention how lightheaded he already felt, either. He was warm and damp, and everything smelt like blood and iron and it was sharp and  _hot and it hurt_. He drew a near gurgled breath at that line of thought, exhaling with a pained sound when Solas finally was content with how he'd set him, withdrawing a bloodied hand.   
"It looks like you caught the corner of a blade- nothing internal besides... this." The elf mentioned, more to himself considering everyone's focus. His next moves were hurried, compared to that. He made Dorian hold him down and flipped through a satchel kept on his waist, coming out with a thin needle (fashioned from bone, they assumed) and thick thread. There was only so much a healer could do, and Solas knew it better than most, contrary to what he would have them believe. He stitched at the wound, ignoring how the skin twitched under his fingers with each puncture and ended it in a thick, tight knot. He broke the thread with his teeth, and a simple command of "Dorian" had them both hovering hands over the pale expanse of his stomach, magic surging through the wound and drawing a gasp from Darcy.

They were using the best of their healing for what felt like  _hours_ , Darcy resisting the urge to squirm and whine. Iron Bull had propped his upper half up on his leg at some point, a comforting hand resting on his shoulder. He switched it focus to that now that his breathing had regulated and the pain was dying down. His palms were calloused (swords-axes-- two of his fingers were missing- did it hurt?), they caught on the more thin fabric of his armor (he posed as a rogue- heavy armor made moving fast hard) and rubbed into his tensed collar. Eventually, the two mages withdrew their hands, and Darcy didn't exactly hear what they said, but before he could complain, Bull was hoisting him into his arms with Dorian close-by. He took advantage of feeling safe and  _not_  being in pain to fall into a daze, nearly unconscious, but awake enough to please his companions.

 

It took them a while to walk back to camp, but Darcy only remembered waking to laying in his cot, Solas assessing his wounds with a very tired looking Dorian seated beside him. Groaning, the Inquisitor reached to grab one of the Tevinter's hands, lazily clasping them together and tugging him closer. The elf was busy for a few more moments before giving a small sentence of assurance to Dorian and leaving them alone in the tent.   
"You scared the shit out of me, you know." The mage didn't feel like building his sentence up- like arguing with his hurt amatus.   
"Mm, imagine how I felt." Darcy teased, weakly kissing the back of his hand, and letting it linger there while he gazed up him. "I'd lay with you, but Solas suggested I  _not_ do that, in case of you pulling your stitches." The information drew a disgruntled whine from the elf, who decided on letting go of his hand to grab his face instead, pulling Dorian down where he could press their lips together. The mage kissed back at first, before regretfully withdrawing- "You taste like blood still, drink something before you do that again" He complained, pouting down at him.   
"I'll see what I can do- but only if you're willing to play nurse and get it for me." Dorian scoffed at that, "I'm not your  _nurse"_  He huffed, crossing his arms.   
"Fine then, maybe I'll get Bull to do it." Darcy teased, sticking his tongue out, which drew another distasteful sound from Dorian, "Not while I'm sitting in here. You win this round, you damn elf." He complained, moustache shifting with the pout he recieved, which only drew a giggle from Darcy. "Whatever you say,  _emma lath. **"**_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> planning on the next chapter to be cullen/dorian/inquisitor or cullen/iron bull/inquisitor. or maybe just iron bull/inquisitor. who even fckin knows.


	10. not today- fenhawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title comes from twenty one pilots new song "not today" check it out Yis  
> Hawke/Fenris drabbles all mixed in. Stuff like Fenris' feeling bad, etc
> 
> >Fenris' tattoo's must hurt every once in a while; I mean, having pure lyrium branded into your skin sounds bad.  
> >Hawke is a big baby but Fenris is secretly also a big sappy baby  
> >Hawke's had to watch his family die and leave him and it takes a toll
> 
> i wanna do the 'self-care sleepover' kinda thing for my next bit!! everyone piles on to hawkes bed and spends the night to comfort him  
> EDIT: ALSO Chapter 10 is missing because it's a wip!!!! dorian/lavellan/cullen is my downfall.

Fenris squirmed in his sleep -writhed, even-, enough that it roused Hawke to turn over to the elf and shake his shoulder. He assumed a nightmare, knowing Fenris had the occasional fitful sleep and worked to help remedy it whenever he could. But Fenris flinched at the touch, nearly smacking his hand away, making Hawke realize he hadn't been asleep at all. "Don't touch me." He hissed, voice small and struggled. There was no malicious intent or hate in his voice, rather pain, he noted. The mage sat up beside him and brushed some hair out of his face, sending a concerned look his way.  
"Are you alright, Fenris? You know I always want to help..." He swallowed, unsure of what to do. The elf was touchy- a wrong move and he was slinking back to his house with discontent. Fenris shook his head, the move stiff as he flipped the covers off his body and sat up, wincing through every movement he made. Hawke scooted closer, carding fingers through his hair and giving a concerned glance over him. 

"It's the markings- they  _hurt_. They do that sometimes- just flare up and make everything burn- but I can't sleep it off this time." His hands were sitting, open and hovering over his legs, in his lap. He noted how he struggled with everything, even talking. So, out of curiosity, Hawke held his hand out, "Let me try something on you. Just on your hand- you can stop me or just say no if that's-" The elf interrupted him by placing thin, calloused fingers in his hold, feeling how they trembled. It made Hawke lean to press soft lips against the back of his hand, understanding how he was struggling to keep his self-control and not let himself complain or cry. He gently placed his other hand over his and held him in his palm, letting healing magic prickle at his fingertips and spread into Fenris' lyrium tainted hand. The elf flinched at first, a choked gasp slipping past his lips, then a pleased sound. The magic reacted first with the lyrium-sparking pain in him, then relief, as the healing aura did it's work, muscles no longer aching. 

" _Hawke..."_ he groaned, the mage sliding his hands up his lithe arms and pulling magic with them. It'd taken ages to get Fenris use to the use of magic. In the beginning, healing wasn't allowed. He had to ease him into the concept of it being helpful. Then a bit of fire to heat up his bath, or some ice magic for when his drinking water got warm. Now, he didn't flinch at the sight of fire on his fingertips or the glow of his healing magic when he needed to ease a wound received in battle. And now he was letting the mage run his magic over those sensitive tattoos, something that made him feel stupidly giddy, of all things. Once he'd ran his hand over the markings on his chin and throat, he leaned to kiss his lips. Hawke gently pecked his bottom lip, murmuring a soft praise into the skin as he continued to rub hands over his form and ease the pain. Fenris had been crying at some point- he had dried stains over his dark cheeks- but the magic seemed to have worked, because he was nearly laying back in the pillows now, eyes drowsy. 

Hawke finished on his toes, sending him a grin as he grabbed a couple and wiggled them. "Feel better~?" He mused, climbing to set his hands on either side of his waist and peck his chin, kissing the white markings there. The elf only gave a soft, pleased moan in response and curled tired arms around his neck, letting Hawke cuddle into his shoulder and side and cover them with blankets again. "Of course- thank you..." He managed, voice soft enough that even Hawke could barely hear it. It was all backed by a louder "You do okay for a mage." Something Hawke knew was a tease. He laughed, kissing his neck and nuzzling up into the space under his ear. "Go to sleep you blasted elf- I know you need it."

 

* * *

 

Fenris liked a lot of things about Hawke: his witty jokes, the quirk of his lips, the pride in his stance. But Fenris especially liked when Hawke would kiss him. Soft presses lips to his neck, shoulders, or just his own lips. The catch of his beard and stubble, the occasional lap of his tongue; it was soothing in contrast to years of abuse. The mage would drag his lips over his throat, kissing every line softly as not to irritate the tattoos, and eventually stop at the crook of his neck and shoulder. He'd kiss and lick till he had him numb to the sensations, then he'd add in something new- bite the wet skin and make Fenris groan, head lolling to the side to let him do as he pleased. To think, him as compliant as a content dog to an ear rub. Which brought him to his next favorite thing- 

Hawke had an obsession with his ears. They twitched, a lot more than Fenris noticed apparently. If he was interested, they'd perk ever so slightly, and if he was upset or put-off? They pointed lower than usual, giving him the appearance of a "pissed-off cat", as Varric had put it. It could be irritating at times- he had to be honest about how he felt about Hawke's ideas since he'd figure it out either way. But, on a different note, Hawke also liked to pepper kisses over those too. He'd press himself close to Fenris, flush to his back, and reach a hand in front to turn his head. The elf had no problem with melting into his grip, humming a pleased sound at the warmth of Hawke's fingers. Then his mouth was nipping down his ear, occasionally leaving a dark spot on thin skin before he'd nibble and bite at the lobe, something that drew breathy gasps and moans from Fenris, who squirmed and whined in his lap. He'd never get to the other ear before the elf twisted himself around to topple Hawke, usually onto the bed, and bite hungrily at his lips.

The next thing Fenris wasn't sure about. He didn't  _like_ his tattoos- Hawke knew the history behind them better than the rest of their group. But Hawke did like to trace the slight indents in his skin in the dark, giggling quietly, as not to "wake" him, as they glowed ever so softly under his touch. The more magic he put into his fingers, the brighter they would shine, but he was still careful not to hurt him. Too much magic made the lyrium in his skin react and made the markings ache. Fenris just appreciated how careful he was with him. Hawke acted like he would snap under his touch if he pressed in the wrong spot, and as fragile as Fenris wasn't, it didn't mean he disliked being treated like that. It almost felt like being revered (which wasn't entirely untrue of the mage's intentions), and the massaging press of fingers into every knot and tensed spot in his back, something accompanied by the occasional spark of electricity, turned him to putty in his hands. These moments - Fenris decided- were his favorite. They were not based on carnal pleasures nor on appeasing the snarky mage, rather being pampered and  _loved_ of all things (he stuttered on the word in his mind) by someone he didn't feel he deserved half the time, but didn't have the heart to even think of when he was around.

 

 

 

* * *

 

" _Please_ " Hawke had managed, face finally turned towards Fenris for the first time tonight. He wished he'd just left without risking another glance. "Please don't leave me alone right now. Just for a little while." The usual stoic demeanor was cracked and his voice was broken too, and Hawke's fingers trembled at how they gripped at his own forearms. Fenris swallowed hard and contemplated. He'd relieved Hawke of their relationship quite a while ago- It'd been too much too fast and he needed time to catch up. And the mage had assured him it was fine, that he had no right to force the elf into anything. And that was what he liked about what he would still call their 'relationship'. But now he had a choice that shouldn't have been so hard. He was too afraid of being forced into something he didn't want, but his friend, his  _lover_ , was desperate for contact. And he wouldn't deny it to him now.

Fenris eased to sit beside Garrett, pulling off his gauntlets so that he could touch Hawke's bare hands with ones of his own. He'd never seen him so absolutely broken before. It was a couple minutes of breathing before Hawke admitted what had him upset. "Everyone's  _gone,_ Fenris. Carver can't even take time to overlook any of this so I'm doing it by myself. I watched Bethany slip through my fingers and now I watched my mother do the same-" Hawke paused to curl in on himself again, choking on a sob, and Fenris heard him repeat something similar to what he himself had said, something he'd chance that Hawke hadn't done on purpose but struck home. "I'm  _alone,_ Fenris. The mansion is so quiet I can't stand it." Before he could finish, the elf was grabbing for his hands, biceps, cheeks- anything he could to make the other man look at him. 

"Listen to me, Hawke. You are most definitely not alone. You have a group of friends willing to drop their lives and run- just to see you happy. You are not alone and I will fetch every damned friend you have to prove my point." He growled, hands tightening on their grip on his wrists now.  
Hawke laughed, a relieving sound considering his current emotions. "Would you actually do that?" Fenris blinked, but nodded. He would, yes. He'd never imagined seeing Hawke this upset, but he didn't want to see it again. "I'd really like to see Varric right now, honestly." He managed, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck and struggling to steady his breathing (despite the tears still streaking his cheeks). The elf didn't complain, giving a sound of approval and standing- "I'll go by The Hanged Man and see if he'd there. Would you like anyone else?" Hawke thought about it, then shrugged. "Whatever you'd like, Fenris- Thank you for not leaving me alone." He stated, giving him a tired smile, hands wringing in his lap. 

"Of course, Hawke. I'd think that none of us would like to see you beat yourself up over this."


	12. holding on to you/ trees / truce - fenhawke and pavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all my titles are twenty one pilots at this point  
> MORE DRABBLES!!  
> 1>>; sunlight and gay moments  
> 2>>; fenris asks the inquisitor what he sees in dorian  
> 3>>; last words at weisshaupt

He woke to an open-mouthed stare of adoration from Hawke, something he'd come to be used to, but not in this instance. It was never this... Intense. Fenris looked over the human's face with a curious eyebrow, only opening his mouth to softly speak his name and grab his attention. He didn't move though- a beam of light had crossed his face and was warming his cheeks, and it felt just nice enough that he didn't dare shift. 

"Maker, Fenris, you're..." His voice trailed off as a hand raised to touch his face, a smile twitching on Hawke's now closed lips while he traced his thumb over thin white lines on his chin.   
"I'm?" He asked, ears twitching at the unfinished statement. What Fenris didn't realize was the mage was too busy admiring him- and although he did that a lot, he looked particularly... "Breathtaking. Absolutely amazing." Hawke finished. The sun struck the dark skin just perfectly, giving him a honey colored glow that Hawke couldn't help but admire. His eyes were a rich green in the light, and the mage breathed a reverent sigh, hand stopping on his cheek. Fenris raised a confused brow at him, fingers raising to touch the back of his hand, tracing soft patterns in the skin.

Neither spoke for a few good moments- Fenris was the one to break the silence, "I can only stand your morning breath for so long, Hawke." He reminded, smirking softly and leaning to press a soft kiss to his forehead.   
"Then, I'll be in the kitchen, love. I'd hope you're going to eat with me?" Fenris offered a nod, "If you wish." And Hawke smiled, dressing himself and moving out of the room, leaving Fenris to mull on how love-struck the human had looked for those slow moments. 

* * *

 

Fenris and Hawke had arrived late one cold Skyhold day on request from Varric. The stay had gone... relatively well, of course, until Fenris had caught that  _drawl_ that screamed Tevinter. He'd heard it before- Bull's lieutenant was Tevinter- but in that case, it was mostly harmless and they'd shared a few blunt words on said homeland. But this time, his suspicions had been regretfully confirmed. A mage, of all things! His luck. It seemed to worsen when the Inquisitor (an elf and a Tevinter magister?) seemed to be... awfully close to him. 

He'd shared words with Bull- He was quite alright for a Qunari, and he ended up talking about a very small portion of his past. He mentioned the Fog warriors (Bull told him the truth about his opinion on them, but Fenris understood his reasoning) and listened to the Iron Bull dissect his personality. He gave him credit, he was a Ben-Hassrath if he ever met one. 

Fenris had also spoken to Sera- he didn't particularly like her... spunk, but they shared some similar opinions on elves and magic, and they bonded quite well on that level. Fenris didn't have time to make friends, but he would definitely consider her if he did. Vivienne was next, and while a mage herself, they got along... Well enough. He wouldn't know how to place that interaction on a scale.

He'd avoided Solas on purpose (Varric told him what he needed to know), and the elf didn't seem to mind. Cole was definitely a no,  _especially_ when he pried into his thoughts and pulled some of his more buried memories to light. He hadn't gone near that section of the tavern since then. Cassandra and him had met before, but to train and befriend her? It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it might be. Blackwall was similar- they spoke very few words to each other but held a mutual respect regardless.

Dorian though- he'd only heard his name from the Inquisitor- was not someone he planned on acquainting himself with. A Tevinter mage,  _from_  Tevinter, and trained as a magister. He added up the offenses in his head, there had to be at  _least_ 4.  
He sat at the table Varric usually lounged around, chin in his palm and eyes on a book Hawke insisted he practice on. The dwarf was preoccupied with catching up with Hawke, currently, and wasn't present. So he sat alone, enjoying the soft chatter of the main hall. 

Chatter that got quiet as the Inquisitor stepped through the main doors, a smile on his lips- He had an idea of where he was headed. Fenris worked up his nerve and turned, calling to him in a short tone, one that caught his attention immediately, and waved him over. Darcy sat beside him, hands crossed daintily on the table as he sat in front of him. "Did you need something?" Fenris resisted a snarky comment, remembering that him and the Inquisitor hadn't spoken much.  
"I have a question. About your mage." He watched the corner of his mouth turn up- He'd been expecting this question. "About Dorian? I'll be honest, Hawke told me ahead of time to keep you two separated."

He grimaced at that- what kind of impression did that give him? "Something about a particular dislike of mages,  _especially_ Tevinter ones. He didn't elaborate, but told me I should consider it important." Fenris fell silent for a moment. He'd thank Hawke later for that one.   
"I... I'm sorry if that gave you the wrong impression. I'm curious though- what has you so interested in the mage?" He refused to use his name- he wouldn't give him the right, not yet. He wanted to know why an elf, of all things, would look so infatuated by someone who's background comes from slavery and the hatred of elves. He watched Darcy smirk at that, eyes turning down to his as he fiddled with them, something that screamed hesitation to Fenris. 

"I... I didn't grow up in Clan Lavellan. It was from another- one I've chosen to omit the name of, in respect-, that fell when slavers destroyed it. I was only young, but I was old enough to know who they were. I worked as a 'servant' to a Tevinter who has been residing in Fereldan. It had to have been the worst point in my life-" He pointed to a scar that ranged from his brow down to the bottom half of his cheek, where it split. "After a couple of years, while he planned on returning to Minrathous, I used his distraction to escape with my sister and mother." He paused there, chewing on his lip. Fenris didn't push, though. He hadn't asked for his backstory, so he wouldn't ask for any more if he didn't want to give it.  
"We lived on our own for two weeks before we found Lavellan. I trained with the Keeper till I left for the Conclave, and sub-sequentially, ended up here." He gestured at that.  "My point is, I know what it's like to be a slave. Probably not as much as you- from as much as I've heard, it's definitely not as much. I've been whipped and caned for my mistakes and treated like a piece of meat. But like hell if I'd let some runaway mage from Tevinter treat me like that again. But that's specifically what he  _hasn't_ done. I... I fell in love with him before a magister- Don't tell him I said that." He covered his mouth with a chuckle, "I still don't think he wants to admit it's love yet."

Fenris gawked at that- he assumed there was some meaning to it, but Fenris wasn't about to judge on that front. He still flushed when Hawke even uttered it to him.  
"We don't see eye to eye on everything, and no one will. But we've spoken on politics, and he does want to fix Tevinter." His gaze looked more mournful at that, "And as impossible as it might be, he wants to try. You don't have to like him, not even meet him in your time here. I won't blame you- certain trauma has certain effects- but I'm interested in him because he hasn't treated me like the wild Dalish elf everyone else seems to think I am. He put me on his level, and we talked out our differences." 

Darcy ran his hands over his face with a flustered chuckle, "I dare say I'm infatuated. But if anything goes wrong, I promise I know how to defend myself. I hope this eases something for you, no matter how small." He smiled and stood, and Fenris nodded, understanding his haste, if only marginally. He didn't like the mage any more- he hadn't even met him and didn't plan on it. But he was no longer wary about anywhere he decided to travel in the small hold. 

He'd been lounging in the garden when he'd seen them slip to a bench on the other side, hands linked together and of all things, Dorian looking hesitant. The exchanged words he couldn't hear, and a soft press of lips, before the Inquisitor was dragging him to pots filled with assorted herbs and plants. He mused to himself, "At least they look cute together."

* * *

 

They'd been at Weisshaupt for a while before it'd all gone to shit. They'd managed to defend themselves right down to the last few. But Hawke was exhausted of mana and Fenris could feel the blisters on his feet bleeding.   
A couple of well placed blows threw Hawke to the floor, sending him tumbling back against the cobblestone. In a moment of panic and worry, they caught Fenris next. A slice of a blade to his abdomen and a slam of a shoulder to his chest and he was falling right back with him.  He stilled on the hard ground, breathing hard and trying to regroup, but the occasional burst of pain in his stomach was ruining any concentration he might have had. 

Fenris risked a glance to Hawke, who seemed to be in a similar predicament- He hugged his stomach and was taking heaving breaths, eyes unfocused. Waiting for the mercenaries to move on, Fenris took advantage of the time to crawl his way to Hawke, gritting his teeth and struggling through the pain. He touched his face and curled up beside him, offering a bloody smile, "Hawke..."

Hawke gave him a glance, one that was blurry, but he returned the expression. "Fenris- love. I don't think I can heal this." He gave a mournful smile back. "I know. Let me lay with you." He mumbled, carefully moving closer to press foreheads together. Hawke let his hand rest on the dip of the elf's waist and he didn't dare move it, lest he move it and not be able to replace it.   
"This isn't how I imagined going out, honestly." Hawke had breathed, grinning.  
"Really?"  
"Mh-hm, lots more fire. Going out with a bang, you know? Not a stab and smear."  
Fenris chuckled weakly, "I haven't thought about that since I left Tevinter. Haven't had a reason too."  
Hawke chuckled back at that, "Aww, that's sweet of you." 

Fenris breathed a weak sigh, smiling as he mulled on other things. "... What will Merrill say?"  
Hawke gasped softly, "Oh shit, what will everyone say? You think they'll know you...?"  
He laughed, gently kissing his lips, "I left with you, didn't I?" he turned the subject, "There's no one I'd rather die with, I think."

Hawke laughed, kissing him back. "Thank you, Fenris. I'm glad you're here with me."  
Fenris hesitated on his next words, but figured, if time was limited- "Love you, Hawke."  
Hawke smiled faintly, thumb rubbing softly at his side, "Love you too, Fen."


End file.
